Aching Silver (House of Wolves Book 1)

by Amber Naralim

  The door swung in. The darkness was no less impenetrable inside. Broken glass sparkled with weak silver in a wide arc. Izobel swallowed hard. The smell was awful. Spun copper laced with putrescence. She pressed the back of her hand over her mouth and nose.

  Her last conversation with her father and his wife rang in her head as she wandered through the living room. Overturned furniture, scattered knickknacks and picture frames, blood splattered on the wall, pooled on the floor. Maxine wasn’t a horrible woman. Truthfully, her worst crime was marrying Izobel’s father. That was enough to condemn her to a lifetime of Izobel’s hostility and derision. Tate was a good kid. Izobel never blamed him for the sins of their parents. But she couldn’t love him the way she loved Zoe. Staring down at the black stain on the carpet, she regretted that a little.

  The dining room wasn’t much different. Scattered chairs and shattered dishes. Blood. Izobel touched deep scratches left in the plaster, four of them tapered and long.

  “Please be okay. Please be okay.” Izobel whispered it like a prayer.

  Izobel couldn’t bring herself to explore any more of the house. She headed straight for the stairs. More dried blood chased her faster down the hallway. Third door on the right, Izobel shouldered her way into the room. A breath fell out of her.

  It was just like she remembered it. Some clothes on the floor. A teddy bear and stuffed penguin propped against the pillows. White Christmas lights stapled in a spiral on the ceiling and draped over the full-size mirror set against the far, teal wall. Izobel flipped on the lights and it was easy to forget the carnage outside the door.

  She sat down on the bed. Tears brimming in her eyes, Izobel hugged the penguin to her chest. Her shoulders shook with sobs. Memories of an adorable little girl with shiny black hair and a smile that could light up the world danced around her like ghosts.

  Zoe was all she had. She couldn’t be gone. Izobel wouldn’t believe it. She couldn’t. She sucked in a breath that pushed at her bones. Izobel tossed the penguin back at the pillows and climbed to her feet. Resolute in her decision, she nodded. Izobel stomped over to the vanity. Pushing things this way and pulling them that, she laid hands on a bracelet she’d given to Zoe for her seventeenth birthday.

  She left the room jogging down the stairs. Stopping at the kitchen, she found a knife. Small, sharp, exactly what she needed. From there she headed down the basement steps. Izobel was surprised her bedroom was exactly as she’d left it. She opened the closet door. Hanging clothes, she pushed past them to the box tucked on a high shelf.

  Candles, chalk dust… she needed salt. Back up to the kitchen, Izobel searched the cupboards franticly. Laying hands on it she went back to start the spell. Pushing the chair out of the way, she drew a circle on the floor with the chalk dust. Another smaller circle in the center made of salt, Izobel set the bracelet inside it reverently.

  She licked her lips and touched the knife to the palm of her left hand. Izobel sliced into the meat of her thumb with a hiss and closed her hand into a tight fist. Blood dripped onto the fake gemstones.

  Izobel closed her eyes, chanting, moving her fingers in complicated choreography it took her months to learn. Magic bit along her fingertips like sparks. It answered her call eagerly eating away at the blood with a line of gold. The bracelet shuddered. She moved her hands quick as light. The bracelet rose into the air and shot across the room slamming into the far wall. It kept pushing trying to force its way through.

  She smiled.

  Izobel knew it! Zoe was alive.

  Izobel found a bag underneath her bed. She grabbed some clothes out of her closet not paying too much attention. She shoved them into the bag, choosing underwear and bras out of the top drawer of the dresser. Finally, she took the bracelet, fighting to tie a bit of string to it. The other end she looped around her wrist.

  Excitement roiled in her veins. She took off back to Deklan’s jeep. The bracelet pointed southeast. And that’s the way she drove. Izobel would find her little sister and woe to the fool who took her. The bracelet tapped, pushed against the windshield begging to fly in the direction of Zoe. The magic was strong. Deklan would be proud.

  “I’m coming, Zoe,” Izobel said to the world, in general, stepping her foot down on the gas pedal. “Just hold on. I’ll be there soon.”

  5

  Chapter

  Footsteps had her eyes fluttering. Zoe sat up and regretted it immediately. Her head felt like it was going to explode. She touched the palm of her hand to her temple and jerked it back just as quick. An egg throbbed on top of the fiery spike that shot down her neck. A pounding ache behind her right eye and a wave of nausea were quickly pushed to the back of her worry list the moment she got a look at her surroundings.

  Dingy white tile covered everything. A drain embedded in the floor and four spigots stuck out of the walls. Too big to be just a shower but that was the vibe she got. No windows, only one door, there were a few wooden crates stacked on the other side of the room. Zoe pushed frantically at the scratchy, wool blanket puddled around her legs and jumped to her feet pressing her back against the corner. She sure as hell didn’t know this place.

  The chunk sound of a lock being thrown back thundered in her ears. Her eyes darted around looking for anything she could use as a weapon. The best thing she could find was a butter knife on a tray of food next to where she’d slept. Zoe snatched it up and held it out threateningly.

  The door swung open.

  “Stay back!” Zoe shouted.

  He was tall, with the beginnings of a triangular figure and broad shoulders. The guy was her age maybe even younger. Short brown curls and mossy green eyes tempered a strong jaw and heavy brow ridge. The easy smile he wore and his sing-song charm didn’t match the terror of her imagination even a little.

  “You’re awake,” he said with a jovially, conversative tone.

  “I-I have a knife,” Zoe doubled down.

  Connor’s pretty eyes flicked to the butter knife then back to her. “And a fine knife it is. But don’t worry. You won’t need it… At least not against me.”

  It’s always good to keep a mark on the defensive. To remind them often of the scary consequences she’d face without his help. He wandered further into the room but was sure to give her the distance she obviously needed. He also left the door open. Manipulation is about striking the perfect balance between savior and terror.

  “How did I get here?” Zoe demanded. Hyper-vigilant, she refused to drop her defensive stance in the face of his friendly demeanor.

  He cocked a brow dropping his head to one side. “You don’t remember?”

  “Remember what?”

  Connor nibbled on his bottom lip. He drank her in for a moment mulling his next move. She really was lovely, an hourglass figure with long legs and small breasts. Coal-black hair frothed around her slender shoulders highlighting her delicate features and wide kissable mouth. She presented a perfect solution to what ailed him of late. And better yet, he had the perfect leverage.

  Waste not. Want not.

  Connor saw two distinct paths this conversation could take. Both had consequences.

  “You don’t remember anything?” he asked again broaching the question with blatant focus and little pretense.

  Zoe deflated a little. She thought back groping for even a thread of the events that led her here. Fuzzy at best, she could almost pick out details. They spun just on the edge of her reach. Barking. A dog snarling that was all she could make sense of.

  The dread emanating from the recollection left her shaking. She shook her head. “No. Nothing?”

  He believed her.

  “We saved you,” he was quick to set the hook. “Well, my bother saved you.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.

  “Saved me? From what?” she demanded.

  “It’s complicated.”

  Every inch he’d made with her evaporated like smoke and she went right back to defensive. Even lifted the knife again. The set belonged to her. But there were other game
s. Conner had patience.

  “Your family was attacked. Johnny got you out of there. I promise. We’ll tell you everything.” He turned toward the door, playing coy. “You coming?”

  6

  Chapter

  Zoe gave him a skeptical look in answer. The dread and pain she could recall were fresh and horribly detailed. Her hands came up pressed over her mouth. Max! Flashes of her stepmom lying there in a pool of blood had her disassociating hard. She ran full tilt in the other direction of where those moments played out, and the realities they brought with them.

  “My family,” the words fell out in a stammered whisper. She didn’t bother asking if they were okay. Zoe knew the answer.

  Conner softened a little.

  “It’s more comfortable upstairs. Warmer too,” he offered.

  Zoe dropped her arm, fist tightening on the butter knife. He walked out. She cast a glance around the room once more and followed him out into a cage.

  Thick bars anchored into the ceiling and the concrete floors both. Beyond it, the basement was huge. An immense, empty space dotted with antique furniture and trunks of forgotten junk. Pillars of brick and decorative tile work held the ceiling high. She passed by a stained glass window propped against the stairs. Those were cramped and steep. She used the tiled wall to help her climb them.

  The kitchen was enormous. Worn honey-colored wood floors and flaking paint gave it a well-used feel. Soaring, peaked ceilings with exposed a-frame wood beams and lots of windows saw that there was more than enough light to combat the dark distressed paint of the cabinets.

  A woman stood at the farmhouse sink. She was short and about thirty-five pounds over what current fashion dictated was acceptable. She wore it well draped in romantic colors and floral prints. Curly blond hair framed her round face and surprised expression. She tore her wide eyes away from Zoe to look at Connor with a questioning demand.

  “This is Nora. I’m Connor,” he said touching his chest. “And that behind you is Johnny.”

  Zoe whirled around pointing her butter knife. She didn’t hear him coming into the room. Johnny was at least an inch maybe two taller than Connor, a year or so older too. The same triangular build, and pointed nose.

  His lips were full and sensual. She was betting they were brothers. Johnny’s hair was darker, more chocolate brown where Connor’s was caramel. Johnny had the prettiest blue eyes she’d ever seen on a man, deep, with an explosion of orange around his pupils.

  Johnny held up his hands in surrender. His grin expression was a little unsure, but warm none the less.

  “I was just telling our guest how you saved her life,” Connor mentioned casually. “Try not to take her not remembering personally. She’s a clean slate I’m afraid,” he hinted.

  Johnny’s forehead wrinkled for just a second and then he plastered a smile onto his face. He would go with any story over the truth of their meeting. Nora and Connor had a battle of silent looks and gestures behind her back.

  “What happened? Did anyone survive?” Zoe begged.

  Johnny’s burgeoning hopeful look fell and Zoe’s face crumbled. “No,” she moaned. “Not Tate?”

  “I didn’t… I mean I just… I wasn’t fast enough. I’m sorry.”

  Zoe’s sobs broke Johnny’s heart. All he wanted to do was comfort her. He stepped forward and she didn’t shrink away. He was happier about that than he should have been. Awful as her shaking shoulders and spilling tears were, Johnny was grateful to his baby brother for his little deceptions. The truth was so much worse.

  Nora signaled Connor’s victory in their battle of wills with an eye roll and swing of her head. “Here, sweetie, let’s get you a cup of tea and a chair.” She nodded at Johnny who dragged one across to her.

  Zoe flopped down. Johnny squatted down next to her resting on the balls of his feet. He gazed up into her face searching for what to say. Words just bounced off the edges. Zoe grabbed his hand and it shocked him. She held on for dear life, her knuckles white.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered

  7

  Chapter

  “What were you thinking?” Nora hissed.

  “I was thinking it would be easier to keep her from doing something stupid if she thought we were her friends,” Connor argued.

  Nora conceded his point with a sigh and rested her back against the wall.

  “If nothing else we need to know why Isaak chose her,” Connor said slipping his hands into his pockets.

  Nora hated that Connor was absolutely right. Something about this girl informed her brother’s choices. If they knew why they could stop him from doing any more to destroy their family. The trick was selling it to Abel. The girl’s sobs left her with a powerful need to make this work. Nora wasn’t totally on board with Abel’s plan, to begin with. Now she knew neither were Johnny or Connor. She hoped that was enough leverage to rope Abel and pull him over to their side.

  “Your story has to be spot on,” she warned, turning to leave the room.

  Connor cocked a brow. “Where are you going?”

  “To convince Abel.”

  Nora grabbed her jacket and slipped into her shoes. Heading out the backdoor, she made her way down the hill and into the tree line. The moon hung high and fat in an empty sky. Barely September and a chill wind crept through the acres between them.

  She followed the winding path through the pines practicing her lines all the while cursing Isaak for dragging them here. His madness would be the end of all of them. Abel was right about that. But there had to be a better way.

  His silhouette cut into the light of the moon. Abel hung his head at the sound of her footsteps. He never believed his mother when she told him to sit at the head of any table you had to be a savage. Now he was a little more amenable to the thought. He hated the look in Nora’s eyes. Hell, the look in John’s. And here she was again to talk him out of it.

  “It has to be done.” Abel’s voice carried.

  “Blood for blood only ever gets you more death. You told me that,” she argued.

  Nora clumsily climbed up on the ridge. Her foot slipped and she skidded back down a few feet. She adjusted her grip and tried again. It pried a smirk out of Abel. That was Nora in a nutshell. She just didn’t know how to quit. He offered her a hand.

  “You never could climb up here,” he mocked helping her over the ledge.

  “And that’s why you come. To run away from me.”

  Nora flopped down next to him on the trunk of a downed tree clapping her hands to rid them of dust and dirt. They sat there in silence for a little while. It was pretty here. The ridge overlooked the whole farm, all hundred and two acres of it and a good chunk of the forest that fenced it in. Rolling hills and pine trees, Nora had always loved it here. She’d always loved the company too.

  “I shouldn’t have sent him,” Abel admitted, but it sounded more like he was talking to himself. Nora nodded in agreement anyway.

  “Johnny is many things, a killer isn’t one of them, and you know that. You see, I think you sent him to keep this ball from rolling off the edge of the table.”

  Abel stiffened. Blustery anger filling him full but Nora didn’t back down.

  “You knew killing that girl was wrong. And you knew John would stand up to you.” She turned toward him, put her hand on his chest. “And you were right to.”

  Abel’s mouth dropped open. He shook his head. “We can’t afford to be sentimental about this,” he growled.

  “Killing that girl makes us no better than Isaak,” Nora snapped.

  He made an angry sound, flinching, turning his head from her, mouth in a tight grimace like she’d hit him. His chest heaved with the hurt and rage that accusation slapped him with. Nora touched the side of his face. She forced him to look at her with every ounce of her gentle determination.

  “There is a better way,” she whispered.

  ***

  Zoe sniffed, wiping at her nose with the sleeve of the shirt she wore. It didn’t help. She was a mess.
Purple eyeliner, tears, and snot. Connor grabbed a box of tissues off the counter handing them to her with the hint of a sneer and retreated to the other side of the room where Johnny stood. Both of them with their heads hung, and arms crossed over their chest. Johnny had no clue what to do in this situation. Conner made lists. Zoe blew her nose. The loud noise intruded on the awkwardness of the situation.

  How do you comfort someone who has just lost their entire family to bloody violence? The answer is you don’t. You can try. But the truth is they have to work through it on their own. And this was only the beginning.

  The double doors banged announcing Abel’s presence. Nora followed behind him. John stiffened. Worry wormed through his guts. He had to fight not to take a protective step between Zoe and Abel. Connor’s gaze flicked from one brother to the other. A charged silence fell over the room. Even Zoe’s hitching sobs were replaced with tense questioning.

  He was a big man. Both Johnny and Connor had that trim, athletic build. Abel was two hundred and fifty pounds of solid, lean muscle wrapped in a leather jacket and jeans. Cropped chestnut brown hair and a smattering of bristles on his cheeks to match, they were just a little darker at the bottom of his chin. He had those full sensual lips the brothers Merrick were known for. His amber eyes were hard, his manner threatening.

  Zoe shrank away from him on instinct. He stomped around the room. Abel stopped, his mouth dropping open to say something but he shook his head and paced some more. He stopped again.

  “You don’t leave the farm,” Abel commanded. “She doesn’t leave the farm.”

  Wrinkled forehead and gathered eyebrows were all Zoe had. Well, that and confusion. She looked to Johnny to explain. He stepped forward.

  “It’s the only way to keep you safe,” Johnny said. “We can protect you here.”

  “No phone. No contact,” Abel added to his list of demands.